The Thieving Little Crow
by 4fireking
Summary: Crow, a thieving little black bird is working with the Penguin and stealing from the Joker. It's a dangerous mission and when people steal from the Joker could get shot and die.


**As it says in my summary the co-author of this story is Snow Slayer. Nice author but any author who is willing to work with a lazy boy like me is a good co-author. We talked a little like we were on Facebook after we finished this story. It was suppose to be a three chapter story but I didn't think it was very long so I changed it. Sorry Snow Slayer if you are reading this. I like Batman. He's my favorite DC superhero but I'm more of a Marvel fan. Marvel I find is more comedy relief than actual drama and action like DC. I like the way he uses a cord to move from place to place like Spider Man. Thank you and please review.**

XXX

There was a full moon out tonight. Most of the moons in Gotham City were full moons. At least, that what it feels like. My parents used to tell me that the lunatics came out when there was a full moon. That was when I used to live in a quieter city. Like clockwork, there was in increase in accidents when we had a full moon. Now in Gotham, while it may only be once a month we had a full moon (with the exception of the rare blue moon), we had lunatics running around full time.

Now the moon shines a light down that no one could see. The so called citizens of Gotham were scared of the night. It was corrupted with evil. Not many could feel this light and its warmth. Yet, here I was, preparing to commit the worst crime of them all in the dead of the night: stealing from the Joker.

I was deemed a crow to my employer. Crow, a thieving little black bird. Actually, I was quite pleased with the name selection, considering the other options. Of course, I think I am far better than my bird counterpart, but I guess I can thank my opposable thumbs and larger brain for that. Real crows would only steal something shiny, yet I knew what it took to barter for shiny pieces of precious metals or perhaps a glimmering gemstone that would bring in a pretty penny on the black market.

That would come later though. Now I needed to focus on the task at hand. The last screw came silently out of the vent and I laid the cover on the ground. Shuddering at the thought of being caught red handed in the ventilation system, I choked back any sense of dread and dove into my work. Besides, who did I need to fear running into? Joker and his girlfriend were incarcerated in the Asylum and the two pet hyenas were at the pound or maybe the zoo. Any of his goons would not idly hang around this haunted fun house. Surely the Bat had better things to do then stalk his arch nemesis' playground. That just left me to do my work.

After dragging myself through the vent with only one trap set off (good thing I was wearing my gas mask), I crawled out into the main room of the funhouse. So far, I was doing pretty good. I had not trigged a massive death trap or alarm system. If I was not as nervous, I might have patted myself on the back. There was no time for that now, because all I wanted was to be out of here, and back in the blinding moonlight.

According to my employer sources, the objects I sought were somewhere in Joker's desk on the right hand side. His desk was not hard to find. It sat in the open towards the back wall, as if patiently awaiting the return of its owner. Cautiously, I skittered to it, glancing about for any weapons waiting to annihilate me with one false step.

A cursory glance showed no obvious threats, but the Joker is a clever man. Rather, a clever clown. Regardless, extra caution was always called for when dealing with this lunatic in particular. I tied a short piece of rope to the top desk drawer and slowly pulled it open. To my surprise, not only did nothing happen, but it was filled with office supplies. Ordinary supplies, like extra notepads, pens, and sticky notes. Even a regular looking stapler.

I shuffled through the materials, but it was just mundane items. I suppose everyone needed some typical materials, it was just a shock that Joker was one of the common crowd on this one. When nothing struck my fancy, I sought the item of choice in the other drawers. I came across what was usual for the Joker. Gas bombs, a deck of razor edged cards (which I pocketed in a leather pouch for later resale), a pair of shoes, some other novelty toys, and a pack of darts were all strewn in the other two drawers. It had to be here somewhere. One of the Penguin's insiders had sworn on every member of his family's graves that he had seen Joker leave it somewhere on the right before Batman had once again defeated the Clown Prince of Crime. I needed to find his novelty gun, and sooner would be better!

The Joker may hide his weaponized toys well, but this thieving crow always finds his loot. Shuffling through the office supply drawer again, I found it. It was a clean gun, shinny and perfect. I marveled at it in my hands, knowing exactly how much money it would bring me upon my return.

Still, I had a nagging feeling about it. The barrel seemed much too short to contain the rod and flag. This called for a test shot! I aimed the gun firmly at the far wall and pulled the trigger.

The resounding gunshot was deafening. In shock, the gun fell from my hands, firing another shot that lodged itself into the desk inches from where I was standing. No, that was definitely not what I was after. With shaking hands, I probed the inside of the office supply drawer again, finally brushing up against a hidden compartment. A flip of a latch revealed the contents.

I held this new weapon with two hands as I aimed it at the far wall. A rod shot out and a blood red flag appeared with 'BANG' written out with yellow letters. Finally, I could get out of this mad house! Wrapping the prized position in a cloth, I stowed it in my pack. I clambered back through the vent system, again tripping the Joker toxin, but my gas mask was still snug over my nose and mouth.

For once, I could have kissed that glowing orb in the sky. Never had I been so happy to be standing under the pale full moon at two in the morning. That was the single longest hour of my life, but it was over. I was free of fear.

I walked the three blocks back to my lone car and made my way over to the Iceberg Lounge. One of Penguin's most trusted guards glared at me after I knocked, demanding proof of my conquest. I showed him the weapon and was roughly bustled into the empty office.

"Mr. Cobblepot will be with your shortly," he huffed and disappeared out of the doorway. If I was as rich as Penguin, I would not waste my money hiring these low class goons. What have they ever done to defend him when the Batman decided to meddle in Penguin's affairs? Personally, I would have first class assassins at my beck and call at all times. That, or purchase some high tech gear like Batman. He certainly did not waste his money on hired help. Theoretically, he had to have bundles of case somewhere, with all the gadgets he is said to have at his fingertips. From the stories I have heard, Batman has had to of hired the best to train him for fighting.

Then again, what should I care about that old bird? As long as I was getting paid and my name was not mentioned if (or more likely, when) Batman busted up a deal I in which I was involved, I would be happy. Besides, Batman should be thanking me since I was stripping the clown of one of his most prized possessions. It may be a novelty gun, but Joker has used it to kill his prey on a large number of occasions.

Penguin stepped into his office, putting an end to my internal monologue. He gave me the once over, and I suppose deemed me safe as he took a seat opposite of me, dismissing his gorilla of a guard in the process.

"What did my little Crow fetch for me this time?" He knew exactly what I had, yet formalities were still needed at this level of our partnership. Even after a few years on his treasure hunting team, I had not earned his full trust. To my understanding, few, if any, did.

"Joker's gun, as requested," I smiled politely as I laid the wrapped parcel before him. He inspected my work carefully, humming quietly.

"My client will be very happy to get his hands on this. He's quite the collector. I trust you had no trouble?" his beady eyes watched me closely. I was warned by senior members of the team to never lie to the bird man. His eyes would catch the faintest hint of an untruthful response. There was no need to worry, because the truth was easy to tell.

"Not a problem," I respond easily. "I walked in, well, crawled through the vents, found the goods and left. Only one mild trap, which was the Joker toxin gas trap in the vents, but the gas mask I had took care of that threat." Compared to what I had initially expected, it was a walk in the park. Penguin absently muttered "good" as he undid a combination lock in his desk and stowed the gun safely inside. Inside another compartment in his desk, he extracted an envelope with my name on it.

"Your reward money and a bit of a bonus. I imagine stealing from the Joker is worth a bit more than the usual pay." I counted the hundred dollar bills, thrilled to find twice the original offer for the job. I thanked him graciously for his generosity.

"Don't spend it all in one place," he chided, gesturing towards his door, "and don't expect me to be that generous next time either. I'll call when I have some more work for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot, and good night." I stowed the envelope securely in my pocket as I went back to my car. Twenty thousand is quite a hefty sum. Sure, I was being ripped off, considering the amount that Penguin made by selling my collectibles, but it was a nice bonus to supplement my earnings as a bank clerk.

There was something black poking out from beneath my windshield wiper blade. I tossed it away before getting in. The crow feathers fluttered away, as I drove home.

I remembered the day a friend of mine lost her younger brother.

It was a terrible tragedy. No one actually saw the murder take place, but it was not hard to guess the cause of death. A few bullets to the chest does that to a man, even a young man. I believe investigations showed up that it was a drug deal gone wrong and the boy owed money. Lots of money. My last pay day would not even begin to cover the damage. I guess it was nice of the drug dealer or his goons to leave the boy's body on my friends front step. That's always a nice surprise first thing in the morning.

Imagine my surprise when I found ten dead crows on my front step as I headed off to the bank. It must have been poison. They were fully grown, but not even the faintest scratch on their beak. Someone had a fierce hatred of birds. Yet I feared the worst.

It was not so much that I had an affinity for birds (compared to Penguin, I cannot even say I like them that much), but the problem was that it was my bird. Pigeons were prominent and maybe a few more colorful birds could be found in the parks of Gotham, but crows did not hang around the city. A person would have to take a long drive out to some fields if they wanted to catch them. Someone was aware my codename.

I could list the people I knew that referred to me as Crow on my fingers. At this moment, none of them seemed to be a likely candidate to blackmail me, considering all of them worked for Penguin and to injure a bird under his employment resulted in instant death. Plus, they have all known me for a while, so why wait to send a threat or blackmail now?

Shoveling the dead bodies into a trash bag, I hurled the black bag into a dumpster. I would deal with the messenger of this threat later. If I wanted to avoid suspicion, I still had to keep up my professional appearance. I had a job today.

It is a normal day as a bank clerk. Making transfers, denying a loan here, maybe approving one there. A typical average life. It pays the bills, and I think I could get by with it, but where is the fun in that? My illegal hobbies brought in a little extra money for more socially acceptable hobbies. I could just get by, or I could thrive!

Thriving was this Crow's family virtue. We never quite had enough to eat at the dinner table when I was younger. Living in the city, it's hard to start a side farming venture. Yet, my mother was inventive enough to figure something out. We used pieces of gutter, and nailed them to the siding to form little garden beds. We brought in a sizeable harvest, enough to eat, sell, and store for later use. My older sister had quite the work ethic. She started her own business and worked ten hours a day, six days a week for a few years. Can you imagine she paid for her college tuition through a t-shirt making business?

Ah yes, good old Kathleen. She clawed her way through Gotham's finest university with the highest degree in Cryogenics. Then she tore through the ranks of GothCorp, earning a spot as the head of the medical department after the demise of their last doctor. I would never say I am a disappointment to the family, but I think my approach was a little more on the exotic side.

My escapades started with dumpster diving. Treasure could be found in many places. Unshreadded social security numbers, credit cards to be activated, bank account numbers, I had quite the collection of paper documents, but what fun are numbers when you can get cold hard cash. I started hunting for valuables in the garbage before I moved on to collectibles in the home. It was not long before I caught the gawking eye of Penguin. He recruited me on a few of his mission, affectionately calling me Crow once I had proved myself worthy.

So I kept my studies current in finances, my wits sharp with thievery, and I made it to the good life. Of course, complications could arise at any moment, especially with those dead crows. I would have to get to the bottom of it this evening if I wanted to uphold my family values.

XXX

No crows on the front porch when I left for work? Check. No crows in the grille of my car? Check. No crows on my work desk, in the bank, or within ten miles of my proximity? Check, check, and check . . . I think. It's been two weeks, so I guess whoever wanted to terrorize me had found a better target or was dead. In Gotham, the second option occurs more often than it should.

Today, there was not even a crow on the porch when I reached it. Good, that means I can go out on another search, seize and sell mission without any second thoughs. Although, it might take a while with all the chores that suddenly became piled on my plate when I opened my door.

There were bits of dead crows everywhere. A wing here, a pile of heads in front of the television, bodies stuffed down the sink. Where does a person even get this many crows?

Hiking through the dead bodies, I made it to my kitchen and suited up to rid myself of this infestation. With rubber gloves to my elbows and an entire box of trash bags, I set to work. It might have put my mind at ease to have the police look into it, since someone had forced their way into my house and vandalized the place. Who knows what they took with them after leaving me this gift? Yet, the officers would be suspicious. 'What is your affinity with crows?' they would ask. Then, if they caught the culprit, they would be sure to rat me out.

I shoved bird and bird pieces into bags, hauling them out to the dumpster. Only once did I have to forge a smile and claim I was doing a bit of spring cleaning when a nosy neighbor inquired about my work. After I had moved the largest pieces out of the living room and kitchen, in addition to using an entire bottle of air freshener, I stopped for a short break. I pulled a carton of orange juice from the fridge, grimacing as a few chilled birds fell onto my feet. Thankfully, the actual drink was not contaminated, nor were there more feathered creatures in all of the cabinets.

Before I could convince myself to get back to work, my phone alerted me that I received a text message. 'If you're not busy, give me a call!' my sister had texted with a few smiley faces following. She was not usually into the emoticons and I still had yet to assess the damage in the upper level, but I dialed her number anyway.

"Hello, Crow." My blood ran cold.

"I – I think I have . . . the wrong number," I finally choked out, my thumb itching to end the call.

"Oh no, you're just the person I wanted to talk to. You see, I don't like when people steal from me, so I thought I would return the favor. Open your freezer." I complied, a high pitched sob racing from my lips.

In a block of ice, was a hand. My sister's hand. Her favorite ring was still on her finger. On the other end of the line, Joker was laughing hysterically.

"You won't be getting the rest of her back, but why don't we discuss you returning my property?"

"I don't . . . I don't think I can," I admitted softly, slamming the door closed with a shaking hand.

"Did you sell it to the bird man already?" There he goes, ten steps ahead of me already. "I hope you have a way to get it back."  
"Penguin's sold it already," the sound of my voice haunted me now. "It's gone."

"Well, in that case," the staircase groaned as he descended, "I'm sure you're wishing you had stolen this gun instead of my novelty one." The barrel was aimed right at my heart as he pulled the trigger.

I could feel it tingling in the back of my head. It was my brain trying to help me stay alive, and it gave me an idea.

Move. That needed to be my first order of business. I dove to my left, the bullet striking a nonlife-threatening blow to my shoulder. It just felt like the end of my existence when the pain caught up. Grabbing the nearest projectile, I threw a couch pillow at him in true pillow fighting form. Of course, it did absolutely nothing to hinder his deathly approach.

Another shot rang out, shattering a lamp at the end of my couch. In a flailing mass of limbs, I rolled into the kitchen, frantically ripping out drawers to find knives. Joker stood in the doorway casually as I pointed the knife at him.

"Don't you know not to bring a knife to a gun fight?" Taking a chance, I hurled the knife at him. He ducked it with ease, years of fighting against Batman obvious in his style.

The knife lodged into the wall over his roaring laughter. I dove to the floor again as another shot went off and shattered dishes in the cabinet. What to do, what to do? There was nothing left that I could defend myself with in here. Essentially, Joker would be shooting fish in a barrel.  
I rolled under the table, as if it would provide protection. The outcome was worse than I imagined, as I was now cornered in the farthest corner of the kitchen, and Gotham's craziest lunatic was blocking the door. On to my last resort: begging.

"I can get it back, if you give me some time!" I cried out. If anything, the laughing grew louder in my ears. Definitely not a good sign.

"If my mind does not deceive me, weren't you just saying it would be impossible for you to return it?"

"I'll find out who bought it, and I'll take out a loan to buy it back!" His face now grinned at me as he leaned under the table.

"It's not about the price. The collector won't give it back to you if you offered them the world."

"I'll . . . I'll figure something out," my shrill voice had become quite flat. It was almost as if his eyes were sucking the life out of me as we spoke. Every fiber of my being knew he was right. The shriek of far off police alarms filled the gaps in his low chuckle.

"Looks like you're saved by the siren," his grinned stretched a few more impossible inches. "They'll be in here to take me away, but don't worry. I'll make sure they know every item you've ever stolen and all the taxes you owe. Then you'll be locked away in Blackgate until my goons do away with your miserable existence." I could feel it in my gut that the last sentence was a lie. By the time the police arrived, I would be grinning like an idiot from the Joker toxin in my veins with two bullets in my chest. I guess I will know in the afterlife as I began to laugh from the green smoke emitting from Joker's flower pinned to his suit as he aimed the gun at me a final time.

THE END


End file.
